


For an Angel

by forwhenmybrainhurts



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fae, Androgyny, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Broken Bones, Clubbing, Dancing, Demigods, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Fae Magic, Fae manipulation, Food, Gangbang, Group Sex, Hallucinogens, Knifeplay, LSD, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic, Mentions of Hell/Other Realms, Mentions of Souls, Mind Games, Multi, Music, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Organs, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to David Bowie, References to Religions, Ritual, Ritual Killing, Spring Equinox, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwhenmybrainhurts/pseuds/forwhenmybrainhurts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My contribution to sparx's Week of Terrible Fiction, published the day after it ended. At least it is here!</p>
<p>Please note before going ANY further: Pay attention to ALL the tags, this is a disgusting fic, full of disgusting themes. If you wish to discuss any of the tags, or remind me of any I have missed, just ping a message over to me via here or Tumblr (same username). I'm really nice and mature and friendly.</p>
<p>Playlist to compliment the story's setting is <a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/queen_zombie/playlist/5zItFONhO8om0M2ORpJBHU">here.</a></p>
<p>Notes at the end, and please comment cos I'd love to know how this goes down with people.</p>
<p>The 90s was great, and we all know that a certain fantastic bastard agrees with me. This is primarily a story about a ritual, but look deeper, and it's the story of Sips crossing a line he wasn't ready for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For an Angel

Sips strolled leisurely through the door which was held open for him by one of the bouncers.   
“Thank you,” he nodded at the man who looked as though he was in his mid-thirties. The bouncer nodded politely back, but said nothing. And he made no eye contact at all with the three companions who followed Sips inside.  
A heavy 90s beat thumped underneath the carpeted balcony which led from the door to the two sets of stairs. One led up, and one led down. The floor above housed the VIP bar, and the floor below was a swirl of bodies shifting to the music, a large DJ box in which one couldn’t see the DJ thanks to the neon lights and lasers being projected from it, and a curved bar which was heaving with orders, manned by about seven young tenders, nodding their heads as they worked. It was fronted with reflective black plastic, solid and beautiful, and purple LED lights pulsed to the rhythm all around the top and bottom. Selective seating was dotted around the edges of the dance floor, and people either sat or stood beside it, talking as best they could over the noise, sucking on straws and showing off the confidence they gained from the situation.  
The king of the Garbage Court pushed his shoulders back and smirked as he sauntered over to the balcony railing to observe it all. Yes, he thought, this is exactly what I wanted it to be.  
Almost immediately, a small, young woman came over to the three companions, who tossed her their jackets without words or even much exchange of eye contact. She was thankful for that. She then walked over to Sips, and offered to take his jacket.  
“I’m fine, thanks sweetie,” he replied with a wink.  
The woman blushed a little, unsure of how to take the response. Her heart rate climbed as she imagined what it might mean for someone not under the protection of a talisman. She touched it through her shirt as she walked back to the cloakroom, breathing hard. It had been given to her by the club owner on her first shift.  
“All I’m saying is, that you will most definitely need it,” he had said.  
It disturbed her, of course, but this job was the best of its kind in the city, and it payed the bills better than a restaurant or a shop would. She didn’t know how to do anything else. Each evening on her bus ride, she would tell herself that at least there was never a dull moment.  
As one of Sips’ companions stood at his side - decidedly the shortest of all of them - he took a breath in and grinned happily towards him.  
“This is what I wanted, Trott. Listen to this song, it’s a classic.”  
Trott laughed softly. “It might be a classic for you, but the 90s was full of grunge for me.”  
Even though a hint of jest swam in his dark brown eyes, Sips exclaimed his surprise. “A gods-damn grunge-kid selkie? Are you serious? That’s fantastic!”  
Trott laughed again, harder this time. He never confirmed if his admission had been true or not.  
“This is a classic!” Another of Sips’ friends had joined him, on his other side. He was tall, broad and looked as though he could crush someone with a single hand. However, he had a beautifully kind face, almost angelic, and eyes of aquamarine blue reflected the lighting as he peered around the dancefloor, delightedly.  
Satisfied that at least that one of his friends was feeling as enthusiastic as he was, Sips smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder.  
“See, Ross understands. He has good taste, which is impressive for a repressed gargoyle.”  
It was Ross’ turn to laugh, and Sips took the opportunity to seek out where the last of their group had disappeared to. However, he was merely hanging just behind them, having been waylaid by someone he obviously knew. Sips couldn’t fathom how his friend already managed to be holding a drink in his hand.   
He was the tallest of all of them, not by much, and a mane of soft, inviting auburn hair swept over his head in styled waves. Even without trying, he emanated a sort of dangerous appeal, as though if he ever looked at you, you’d better prepare a last will and testament, and be honoured to do it.  
A triumphant voice caused Sips to turn back towards the staircase, to see Turps scampering over to the three of them stood at the railing.  
“Guys, guys! You made it! Great, thanks so much for coming.” Taking a small breath as he reached them, and speaking again before any of them had a chance, Turps rubbed his hands together excitedly, clapping a hand over each of them in friendly greeting. “You all look so well! Ross, that shirt is pretty much the best colour you could wear. Trott, are you growing your hair? I love it, it’s like melted milk chocolate, fucking gorgeous. Sips! Sips, my favourite human being, can we hug? I do love a hug.” Finally quietening, Turps’ beaming lagoon blue eyes waited for the go ahead. Sips couldn’t help his shameless teasing giggles, knowing that the siren wouldn’t care, and he opened his arms to instigate a bear hug.  
“What the fuck are you wearing? I love it, it’s like the opening credits of a 90s teen comedy threw up on you, but in like, the best way.” Turps held Sips’ shoulders at arm's length, and proudly looked to the others as Sips descended further into his laughing fit. It was infectious, and spread to those in on the conversation.  
Turps wasn’t far off in his description. The man’s jacket was an awful thin plastic material, patterned in garish green and pink zig zags and swirls. He was wearing stonewashed denim jeans, hi top trainers, and on the top of his head was a cap, splashed with neon colours and with an embroidered gold crown on the front.  
“Where’s the hat from? Seriously, I want one with me at all times to remind me of this moment.”  
“Smith found it,” Trott managed to say, through his low chuckles.  
“Oh shit, Turps. Gods-damn it, you’ve killed me already, and I’m only just inside the porch!” Tears welled in Sips’ eyes as he recovered from Turps’ welcome.  
“Smiffy! Smith!” Turps called the tall, auburn haired member of the group over.  
Smith looked up and lifted a forefinger to indicate he was still in conversation.  
“Come on, Smith. You can flirt with Melpomene later, tell me where you got this hat,” Turps was waving Smith over passionately.   
Smith pursed his lips, sharing his frustration with the muse. She rolled her eyes dramatically and said goodbye with a smile. Taking a sip of his dark coloured drink before slowly walking over to the rest of them, Smith completed the group, and he held an arm around Trott and Sips’ shoulders as he stood between them.  
“You don’t want to know where I got it, Turps. But I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say you couldn’t find another one if you wanted to anyway. One of a kind.” Smith flashed a toothy smile at the siren, who looked a little nervous suddenly.  
Ross poked Smith in the side with the end of his tail, and Smith used his free hand, which was on Sips’ shoulder, to stick his middle finger up at the gargoyle without any other acknowledgement.  
“Don’t mind him,” Trott assured, and Smith looked at him.  
The selkie did not return his gaze, and it was Smith’s turn to shift a little. He shrugged to show that the game was over, and no harm was meant.  
There was a tiny pause, in which Turps’ face was beaming once more.  
“Right!” He exclaimed, rubbing his hands together again. “Shall we get you a seat?”  
He led the way up to the VIP floor, followed first by Sips, then Trott, Smith shadowed the selkie, arms still draped over his shoulders, and finally Ross ascended, aquamarine eyes taking in as much of the space as he could.

With a drink each (Smith was on to his second) brought to them by a waiter, the Garbage Court sat comfortably on a sofa around a low, heavy, plastic table.   
Ross sat to the side, on the floor, but he didn’t mind. There was a good view. Mirrors covered portions of the ceiling and he silently watched the dancers as he listened to the conversation next to him.  
Sips sat in between Smith and Trott, casual and cocksure, tapping a foot to the music, and listening to that more than the things everyone else was saying.   
Trott’s brooding eyes absorbed everything going on, and he used them to great effect in getting what he wanted from the discussion.   
Smith was relaxed, chatty and almost friendly. His arm was now draped over the back of the sofa, and his slender fingers would absent-mindedly tease the back of Sips’ neck, or rub at Trott’s shoulder.  
Turps sat on a large chair opposite them. His chair. It was bold and full of status, with a white plastic body and leather cushioned back and seat. It revolved in the middle, and Turps would swing around in it, making sure things were still running smoothly behind him.

_______________________________________________________________

The Garbage Court had been invited to a Spring solstice celebration at the club, with the offer of being treated to a made to order meal, free drinks all night, and the use of the VIP floor, and being guests of honour, in exchange for a banishment ritual.  
Turps had explained that the unsavoury ghoul had decided to move in suddenly, just after March 1st. It had terrorised punters and staff alike, to the point where three karaoke nights had been cancelled.  
“The fucking thing trashed the screens. I can’t read the lyrics,” he had told Trott. “I can’t lose business. I’m going to close the club until it’s sorted, so you understand the urgency.”  
“Of course,” Trott had replied. He had immediately offered to help the siren, but his mind was whirring.  
Turps had asked Trott because he knew the selkie would handle it easily, but then so could a lot of others. Surely Turps would understand that a dinner and drinks might not quite cut it as a thank you. They were friends, sure, but not exactly totally trusting of each other. There was a lot more to the request than Turps immediately let on.  
“It’s not a problem, so long as you tell me exactly what the story is, Turps.”  
There was a stagnant silence before the siren laughed, nervously.  
“Trott, you see right through me, buddy. How d’you do that? Actually, don’t tell me, I’m sure it’s horrific.”  
Trott stared back at him with endearing amusement, and Turps had to take a deep breath to collect his thoughts again.  
“He came by. You know who.”   
Trott’s expression immediately became serious.  
“He asked if I knew of any solstice celebrations happening. I said no, and he was obviously expecting me to say yes. What was I supposed to do? Offer him the club? Fuck that, Trott. Fuck that son of a bitch, he is not having it!” Turps was increasingly angry.  
“Turps,” Trott soothed. “No, he can’t have it. It’s yours. You’ve put more into that place than a lot of us have put into anything.”  
The siren calmed before smiling thanks and continuing. “After a scary conversation, he gave up, but not before he left this… thing behind.”  
Turps stopped and looked back at Trott, waiting for a reaction. However, Trott saw the dishonesty.  
“What is it, Turps? It can’t just be a wraith or a ghoul. You’d have asked someone else.”  
Turps rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere but at the selkie. Then he huffed laughter, as if Trott was being too suspicious.  
“Come on Trott, you know me. Don’t let myself get caught up in more than I can handle, do I? I just thought that we could stick one up to him. Together, you know?” It wasn’t working, and Trott’s serious face twitched ever so slightly dangerously. “Okay! Okay, okay! I’ll tell you.” The siren’s blue eyes finally met the selkie’s brown ones. “It’s Picollus.”  
“Fuck sake.”

Picollus had come across the Garbage Court before, and to much notoriety. They had summoned him when attempting to scare a punter who was late with his bills. It had worked, and the demi-god had even stayed with the court for a short while, revelling in the hedonistic activities, and satisfying his bloodlust for a short while. The court didn’t even try to keep it quiet, and before long, everyone knew that the Garbage Court were running around with a demi-god.  
This lasted until the winter, when Picollus bid adieu and descended to his realm. “It’s lovely and warm,” he explained with a wink, before disappearing apparently forever.  
Of course, the court didn’t tell anyone that Picollus had left, so the stories and rumours continued well into the new year. Trott had half-hoped the demi-god would come back as the days turned warmer, but figured he’d found something else to keep him entertained. The additional respect and admiration, as well as the quiet fear that most held for the court never really went away, and it increased their status in the city.  
So, what had actually happened was that Kirin had summoned Picollus for much the same reason that the Garbage Court had; to scare the shit out of Turps. It had worked, but the siren had surely done exactly what the sidhe lord expected him to, which was go to Trott for help.  
Picollus had already visited Turps once, smashed some of his kit, eaten a load of raw steak, and left with some harsh words of warning, and the siren knew that three trips in total meant he would be taken back to Hell with the demi-god, no bargaining. For this reason, Trott couldn’t blame Turps for asking this rather large favour.  
However, there was no telling whether Picollus would be friendly towards the Garbage Court, or if he’d be bound to Kirin’s will. It was always a demi-god’s choice as to how much they helped or hindered those who summoned them, and he was free to come and go anywhere he liked, other than the big city in the sky, of course. Then there was the fact that Kirin had clearly laid a trap. How thought out was it? Was he really expecting them to rise to it?  
Trott chewed his lips, staring at Turps, who was visibly starting to panic. Finally, when he had had enough fun, the selkie said, “We’ll do it.”  
Turps whined with relief, and breathed heavily. “Thank you, thank you s-”  
“But,” Trott spoke over the siren, and he was silenced. “Reopen the club, there’s no use in keeping it closed. We get to be guests of honour, invite all our friends, eat made to order food, drink ourselves stupid,” Turps was nodding enthusiastically, “and we’ll do all this at the beginning of Ostara, and Sips gets to pick the theme of the night.”

____________________________________________________________

Sips’ blood was buzzing with the warmth of alcohol; he’d decided on passionfruit mojitos as his drink of choice for the night, and changed his seating position to the bar, so he could enjoy watching the tender mix a new one each time his glass was emptied. It was also the perfect place to see how well the 90s theme party was going down with the crowd. Some were screeching lyrics along to the club classics, some had dressed in a similar way to Sips; clashing colours and unflattering cuts, some were drinking cocktails and alcopops out of plastic Squeeze-It bottles - Sips had already demanded two crates of mixed varieties be saved for him - and some were taking it all in. Maybe they were not quite as nostalgic, but judging from some of their reactions, they had no recollection of what the 90s had entailed.   
A moment of affirmation hit Sips like a brick in the stomach. He was so much older than some of them. Glumly sipping at the half-empty mojito, the man told himself it was more likely that those people were fae, who had not been around in the 90s, for whatever reason, rather than simply them all being so much younger than him.  
Ross watched his king from his vantage point, and a wave of great affection washed over him. He cocked his head to the side and smiled. He wondered what was bothering the man, but before he could go over to ask, the gargoyle was distracted by the smell of food, and turned to see the waiter carrying two large plates. Turps followed behind, carrying two more. He held them out in front of him, and danced to the music as he made his way back to the table, mouthing the words to the three of them sitting there.  
“Ho, ho! Yes, here is the best food you will probably ever eat! Bold statement, I know, but I made sure to get the best ingredients I could for you. Cooked by my master chefs, obviously, though I did have to pay some serious overtime.” As Turps placed a plate of brisket beef with bourbon glaze in front of Smith, he saw the kelpie raise an eyebrow at him. “There was so much to do to cook each meal as fresh as possible and individually, so I had to have extra chefs in the kitchen.”  
Smith said nothing, but merely licked his lips, picked his cutlery up, tucked his napkin into his shirt and bent down slowly to sniff his meal.  
Turps looked to Trott instead, who sat back and eyed his plate of seafood, unmoving. “But, you know, it’s fine. Totally fine. Just as long as everything is how you like it,” the siren cleared his throat nervously.  
Ross had already begun shovelling sweet potato fries into his mouth, and was examining his three burgers, excitedly. Each one was a different meat, piles of patties in between sweet bread, and adorned with various condiments and extras.  
“Ross,” Trott murmured. The gargoyle stopped chewing and his sharp eyes met the selkie’s. “Could you go and tell Sips that his pizza has arrived?”  
The gargoyle arose and went to the bar.  
“Are you not eating, Turps?” Trott asked.  
The siren looked taken aback. “Erm…”  
“It’s wise for you to eat something, mate.” Smith chipped in, tearing off some of the sweet, tender meat and savouring it with his tongue before eating it.  
Turps swallowed. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, in a low voice.  
Trott tasted a little of each of the seafoods on his plate, before looking kindly at the siren.  
“Sorry,” he smiled, and held out a king prawn with his fork. “It’s all really good.”  
Turps took the offer, and it went down surprisingly well. The chefs had added more sea salt than they usually would, and the familiar taste at the back of the siren’s throat relaxed him somewhat. He sat and looked to his waiter.  
“Bring the rest out, would you?”  
The waiter nodded and went back to the kitchen.  
Turps sighed heavily, and leaned against the back of his chair.  
“Just having some fun, mate,” Smith explained.  
Turps nodded and was silent for the first time that evening. He stared away from them, at the reflected lights in the mirror on the ceiling to his left.  
“You must be exhausted,” Trott added.  
Turps nodded again.  
“Listen, we wouldn’t be here if it was a lost cause. We wouldn’t be so chill if we didn’t think it was going to work.”  
The siren looked to Smith for confirmation of his words. The kelpie’s face was reassuringly calm, and he smiled, almost warmly.  
The moment was over, as Sips collapsed onto a chair with a groan of satisfaction.  
“Oh my gods, this looks amazing,” he observed, pulling his margherita pizza and winter salad over to him.

_________________________________________________________

“He’s here, Trott.”  
Ross was standing behind the counter of the shop, and had reacted to the sight of a rather stout, old man walking through the door. He had a large nose, pointed chin, and a sneering grin apparently from ear to ear.  
“Ross,” a heavily accented voice stated. It sounded like crackling logs on a fire.  
“Pic,” the gargoyle returned, walking over to the demi-god and embracing him.  
Trott appeared from a dark corner of the room, and did the same.  
“Trott,” Picollus purred, full of fondness and high esteem. It was a good start.  
“Smith is running an errand, should be back in about an hour,” Trott explained, as Ross went to the small fridge behind the counter to collect three fizzy, sugary drinks.  
“And what about your king?” Picollus asked in a low drawl, furrowing his brows in a deliberate fashion.  
Trott shot a quick look of alarm to Ross behind him, as Picollus took a seat near the window, and the gargoyle managed to remain apparently composed as he handed the demi-god a dandelion and burdock. It had always been his favourite.  
“Oh, well done!” Picollus exclaimed, opening the bottle eagerly and drinking fast, before remembering he was waiting for an answer to a question.  
“He’s at home, wanted the day off,” Trott replied. There was no point in lying or being dishonest to the demi-god. Trott decided that if they were going to be friends again, it should all be explained. “Told you about Sips, did he?”  
Picollus laughed. “He told me everything, Trott. From his point of view anyway. Still, it is most peculiar practice to keep your king alive for over a year. Maybe I will be able to see why when I meet him.”  
Trott worried, then. They had not intended for Picollus to stay around very long, and summoned him by name, rather than ritual magic, to avoid any obligation to him.  
“What time do you shut up shop?” The demi-god asked.  
“6.30,” Ross confirmed.  
“That’s a long time away,” Picollus observed, looking outside towards the sky. “Why don’t I wait for you at your flat? I could get to know Sips, have some fun like old times…” he trailed off. “I miss it.”   
Those words were spoken so genuinely, that Trott could have easily believed him. However, if he was in conversation with Kirin, it couldn’t be risked.  
“You understand if Ross goes with you, I’m sure,” Trott smiled as apologetically as he could, to try and show that he wanted the trust to be there.  
Picollus beamed rather wildly. “Of course,” he replied.

The flat had been somewhat decorated. The court had anticipated the worst case scenario, and Sips had reluctantly agreed to play a welcoming host, should Picollus pay a visit. The fridge was stocked with meat cuts, freshly cut flowers and herbs adorned doorways and surfaces, and they had actually lit the fire.  
It was kept stoked and fuelled by magic, which Sips was grateful for. Though he did find himself staring into the flames, quite enjoying the warmth and light coming from it. He was playing an old PlayStation game - long since forgotten by most, unless you had been around at that time - when the door quietly opened and Ross rather gingerly came over the threshold.  
The gargoyle peered around the corner of the entrance hall into the living room to catch Sips’ eye, but a rather loud scene was playing out on the game. Ross heard a throat clear behind him, and turned to see Picollus still standing on the other side of the door.  
“Shit,” Ross cursed, hoping he hadn’t fucked it all up already. “Sorry, I’m sorry. We had a different place last time. Please, come in.”  
Picollus patted the gargoyle’s arm. “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” he assured, and was led into the living room.  
“Just a seco-” Sips glanced up. “Woah.” He cleared his throat quickly, paused the action on the screen and rethought his reaction. “Hello,” he stated, quietly and simply.  
“Sips,” the demi-god assumed, taking a seat next to the man who was gripping hold of the game controller rather more tightly than he usually would. “I’m so fascinated to meet you.”  
Fascinated was an odd word to use. Not honoured, not happy, not even pleased, Ross thought to himself, and he stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the room, ready for anything.  
“Same,” Sips replied, a little insincere in tone, and looking at Ross for the go ahead before shaking Picollus’ hand.  
“So,” Picollus started, “What are we playing?”

Trott had arrived home at 6.45, almost two hours after he had instructed Smith to go home. The kelpie, gargoyle, human and demi-god had changed the game to a party four player tournament, and they were shouting at each other, as though they had been playing it for years.  
“Everything uh- Everything alright?” The selkie asked, as casually as possible, putting his bag away and kicking of his shoes.  
“Shh, Trott, this gods damn guy is beating my ass, and not in a good way either! I need to concentrate.” Sips didn’t look up from the game, and Trott cocked his head in surprise.  
“Okay,” he mumbled, slowly.  
“Pic has mastered 3D gaming, Trott. It’s quite something,” Ross explained.  
“Huh,” Trott replied, with an air of doubt.  
“You’re next, Trott. Loser passes control,” Picollus said - his voice a lot lighter and friendlier than it had been a few hours ago - as he nudged Sips in the side and winked at him.  
“Fuck off,” Sips retorted, and Picollus tossed his head back in laughter.  
Trott took the opportunity to tap Smith on the shin with his foot and raise his eyebrows, questioningly. The kelpie replied with an indifferent shrug and a smile which said that the demi-god was doing just fine.  
Trott cleared his throat. “Definitely later,” he started, “but when this round is over, we really do need to get down to business.”  
Picollus looked suddenly serious. “No fun,” he murmured dangerously.  
The room was immediately silent and thick with tension. No one breathed, but Trott’s heart hammered in his chest so hard, he heard it echo around the walls.  
Picollus stared at Trott for a few terrifying moments, then his wide grin illuminated the room, and swiped through the foggy air.  
“I’m joking, Trott. It was fun to see you all - especially you,” he pointed at the selkie, “squirm so.”  
There was a brief moment of utter bewilderment from all sides of the demi-god, until he explained.  
“That stupid sidhe lord thinks he can summon me and use me? No,” he was shaking his head swiftly, thin white hair swishing around his pointed face. He was still smiling. “I know what he is, I know what he’s done, and I don’t like it. I’ve always favoured the underdog, you know.”  
Trott breathed out heavily, and put his hands on his hips. Picollus was always a pretty bad liar, even if he was good at persuasion and twisting the story, and he was telling the truth.  
“Fucking hell,” Trott sighed, to the amusement of the demi-god.  
“Right friends, down to business, as he says,” Picollus managed to smile even wider, and jigged excitedly in his seating position.

Picollus was a demi-god of his underworld realm, who visited important people three times in their last days on the mortal plain, and that included fae. In the first two visits he had to be appeased with gifts; mostly indulgent and rich items or food. On the third visit, one would either have to go with him to his realm, or bargain for their lives with blood. If Picollus was happy with the exchange he’d leave the soul alone for someone else to collect at another time - someone rather less mean - but if he wasn’t satisfied he’d take the soul anyway.  
The rules included that the gifts had to come from the person Picollus was visiting, but the blood exchange had to belong to someone else willing to sacrifice it. It didn’t happen all that often. If it was an animal, it had to belong to the other person, and that other person had to take the blood themselves. Similarly, if it was human or fae blood they were offering, it had to be taken by someone else. They could either fill a vial with their own, or in more extreme cases - depending on the status of the soul and Picollus’ mood - the other person had to kill. Then there was the ritual. Words had to be spoken, ingredients had to be burned, and Picollus liked the blood to be prepared for him. If it was a small amount, it would have to be flavoured and mixed with things he liked, if it was a large amount of blood or an organ, he liked it neatly packaged, again with flavour, and something to consume it with, such as a glass or cutlery. If it was a kill, then it needed to be separated into portions, each presented well - he liked various shapes and sizes - flavoured, and with something to drink and eat with. The other thing he especially liked about a kill was if it had been tenderised. The Garbage Court knew all too well what that meant.  
They had planned for Picollus to visit Turps once more, to keep up appearances on all sides, and of course, they wouldn’t tell the siren the full story, lest he let it slip with his motormouth. Then, at the solstice celebration, the demi-god would visit once more, but take the offering given to him in exchange for Turps.  
“Of course, I have to be appeased,” he added at the agreement.  
“Of course!” Trott concurred. “What did you have in mind?”  
Picollus would usually be happy with fresh animal blood, belonging to a pet or valuable livestock, but this was a little different.  
“He’s fae, and he’s obviously got status and value in the city,” the demi-god pondered. “Plus I’m breaking my rules here. I’d quite like a pretty young thing.” His voice was quiet. “I miss having company, and why not indulge in something of a little more quality? I know you’d do that for me.”  
“Fae or human?” Smith asked, the taste of blood on his tongue already, making him salivate.  
Picollus answered immediately, “Oh, human. I don’t want a fae coming into my home, all tradition and wisdom. I’d like something I could shape.”  
“Male, female or something else?” Ross asked.  
Picollus ran his tongue around his teeth for a few moments, thinking.  
“Androgyny would be interesting,” he said finally, before adding, “I miss David Bowie,”  
“You didn’t get him?” Trott asked, rather astonished.  
“No,” the demi-god replied, glumly. “Veles got him before I could. The bastard left a bunch of whales washed up on the coasts of the North Sea. It was a bit…. Distracting. As much as I hate to admit it, 25 sperm whales was a pretty good deal.”  
Trott recalled late nights, playing Ziggy Stardust on the turntable, whilst Picollus attempted impressions. He’d loved glamorous and interesting artists during his 70s and 80s run with the Garbage Court, especially David Bowie.  
“I can’t believe he wasn’t fae, after all that. Even humans always thought he was something more,” Picollus sighed, then brushed it off. “Androgyny,” he confirmed. “I’ll let you pick.”

___________________________________________________________

“It’s your turn to pick.”  
Smith had said these words with such a throwaway tone, as though he were shrugging the task off because he couldn’t be bothered, and Sips couldn’t help the small squirm in his stomach. It was moments like this which reminded him of the difference between himself and those he lived with. Instead of relaying this to the others, the man leaned back on the plush sofa, folded one leg over the other and adjusted his crown to sit at an angle.  
“I’m a king, Smiffy. I don’t pick.”  
Trott gazed knowingly at his king. A human who showed a threat to any of them was a different story, but the selkie knew that Sips would never wish to kill one of his own kind without a reason. Rituals were still something he had little clues about, especially fae rituals. After all, why would he have ever had to know?  
Smith had a disgruntled look on his face, and he didn’t even want to pretend to hide it. He knew that he had already lost, but refused to admit it.  
Sips held his stare at Smith, daring him to challenge, Trott looked between them, amused, and Smith held his unrelenting stubbornness. It was something that was always the catalyst for interesting situations, the resistant will of the kelpie versus the cool, yet resolute king. However, a quiet voice came from behind them.   
“Can I pick?” The question breezed through the thick tension like an echo of conscience following some movie villain.  
The three friends sitting at the rectangular plastic table turned simultaneously to the impassive gargoyle, who was sitting cross-legged beside the sofa. He blinked at each of them, as though looking for permission in turn.  
“Sure,” Sips replied with relief.  
“But you have to help with the ritual,” Smith sneered.  
“Do I?” Sips asked before he could stop himself. Unable to skim over it, he looked to Trott for help.  
“To a certain extent, yes. You entered into this bargain with the rest of us. I thought we might be able to keep you out of it entirely, but Pic wanted to meet you, and from then, you were a part of it. Sorry, mate,” Trott twitched a sideways smile, apologetically.  
Sips swallowed, suddenly regretting finishing the entirety of his meal. “To a certain extent?” He repeated.  
“You won’t have to do the killing, but you have to be part of the ritual. From beginning to end.”  
There was a pause in which Sips processed this. “You mean,” he started, and Trott encouraged with a slow nod. “You mean I’ll have to fuck them first?”  
The three fae smiled; Smith rabidly, Trott with amusement, and Ross dreamily.  
“How can I? I mean, how can I keep it up, knowing they’re going to die?” It was an honest question. Mutilated corpses didn’t do much to turn him on.  
“I can help with that, mate,” Smith said, smoothly. His senses had been stimulated at his victory. He was finally going to get to watch Sips lose every inhibition.  
The kelpie ran his hand up Sips’ thigh, intently, and all of the man’s attention was immediately on him. They kissed; hot and breathy, tongues untamed. Smith ignited a ball of warmth in Sips’ core, and he completely forgot why he had been feeling anxious. He moaned against the kelpie’s mouth, and willed it to never end.  
Ross was watching them, biting down on his bottom lip and furrowing a brow, tenderly. He missed the lust swimming in Trott’s dark eyes, as the selkie observed him from the other side of the sofa, an itch of a smile over his features.

_________________________________________________________

Turps had left them to their business, not wanting to be any more involved than he had to, brainlessly tidying things in his office behind the bar of the VIP floor. His heart pounded a beat in his throat that made every hair of his body stand up, and he wondered if he might be sick.  
The court had finally told the siren about their plan, eking as much fun out of his panic as they could, but he still felt as though everything he’d ever worked for was about to come crashing down around his ears. The deal had been made, and could not be unbroken, but there was no guarantee of the plan going without a hitch.  
He was looking - but unable to read - at the paperwork drafted for him should he not make it through the night, when a sharp knock came at the door. The siren’s blood went colder than usual  
“C-Come in,” he squeaked.  
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was only Sips.  
“Listen, Turps. There’s more to this fucking deal than I thought.”  
Turps’ breath caught stickily in his throat.  
“If I’m going to do this, you have to get the DJ to play Macarena.”

Giggling uncontrollably again, Sips watched most of the place moving in unison, save for a few with no rhythm. Ross was trying to make the moves as raunchy as possible, pouting his lips at Trott, who was on the verge of losing it completely. Smith stood behind the gargoyle, hands wandering, and tongue tasting the air. With every ‘Heeeeey’, Ross ground his hips against the kelpie, with a twitch of eyebrows.  
“Jesus Christ!” Sips heaved.  
The song ended, much to the disappointment of the human, and Ross joined his side, mischievous grin on his face.  
“I never realised how dirty the lyrics were,” the gargoyle observed.  
Sips snorted with laughter again. “Yeah,” he agreed.  
They studied the crowd together for a few minutes before Ross spoke again.  
“Do you want to help me choose?” He asked.  
Sips’ eyes glazed for a while, and when he turned to the gargoyle, it was as though he’d become something more.  
“Sure,” he replied.

________________________________________________________

Harri had moved more on this night than she had in a long time. It felt so right to be absorbing the sounds and sights around her. She’d come with someone she’d only just gotten to know. It wasn’t the sort of thing she did often, but her new friend was so persuasive. They had disappeared about an hour before, and Harri was left on the dancefloor, too lost in the music and atmosphere to care.  
The young woman had tried to make eye contact with several nice looking people, but no one seemed to notice she was there. Just like every other place she’d ever been. But something told her she couldn’t leave. Not yet. And that’s when she saw him.  
He was staring at her, blatant and intrusive. He was looking at her layered, chopped pixie cut - dyed a shade of red that the box described as ‘paprika’. He was looking at her shirt - white, buttoned to the top and complimented with a thin navy tie. He was looking at her navy trousers - straight legged and completely hiding her shape. He was looking at her shoes - scuffed green Converse with different laces; one blue and one a dark purple. He was looking at the way she looked at him. With apprehension and naivety.  
He made his way slowly to Harri, and she turned from him, nervousness stirring in her gut. She kept moving in time with the music, and tried to play the whole thing as cool as she could. It was hard with such a force trying to burst its way out of her. Someone had spotted her, and was now walking over. This sort of thing didn’t happen.  
“Hello,” he spoke, a little closer than she might have liked. It sent a chill up her spine.  
“Hello,” she replied, turning her face slightly, but still keeping him behind her.  
“Are you here alone?” He asked, a tone of concern in his words.  
“No, my friend has just popped out. They’ll be back soon.”  
“You mean Merydith?”  
“You know her?” She questioned.  
“Yeah. She won’t be coming back,” he stated, bluntly and emotionless.  
Harri stopped dancing and frowned. She swung her body round to face the man. God he was tall.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean, she’s a piece of shit that lures young girls to dangerous parties and leaves them to be picked out.”  
Harri was anxious.  
“By who?” She wondered aloud, looking around the dancefloor for suspicious characters.  
The man smiled broadly. It was sweet, kind, and rather beautiful.  
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll make sure you’re looked after.”  
Harri blinked up at the kind man. His skin seemed to glow in the lights, and his eyes were a piercing blue. He was rather breathtaking.  
“Thank you,” she said.

Smith watched the gargoyle and the young woman. They danced for a few songs, talking now and then, and getting closer to each other. The kelpie couldn’t help but smile.  
The couple made their way to the stairs, and Smith rejoined his court, who were conversing with the muse Melpomene and two of her sisters. The kelpie nodded to them, and the sisters said their goodbyes before heading back to their table. Fresh drinks had been brought to them, with an added sweet cocktail, which Trott had laced with seer’s sage. The less outside magic that got involved in the ritual, the better. Though Smith had already assured he’d use a little, for his own satisfaction, and of course he’d help Sips.  
Ross led Harri to the table, and immediately picked up the cocktail.  
“Here,” he offered.  
“Thanks.”  
“These are my friends, they’re as nice as me, I promise.” The gargoyle smiled again, and Harri relaxed a little, humming a laugh and taking a sip of the drink. “Everyone, this is Harri.”  
It was one of the first questions Ross had asked, and he remembered that the name hadn’t been on Turps’ list of untouchables.  
“Hi Harri,” Trott said, warmly. “Would you like a seat?”  
Smith stood, and Harri was almost alarmed that he was even taller than Ross. He took a different chair, and motioned for the young woman to sit in his place, on the sofa, next to Sips. She rather nervously took the offer, staying on the edge, holding the drink close to her face, as if it were a shield.  
“Harri,” Sips started. The woman turned to him. “That’s a cool name. Short for Harriet?”  
Ross observed his king. He seemed pleased.  
Harri shook her head. ”No, but I prefer Harri.” She paused and looked for any reaction. There was none, but they were all just staring at her, engaged totally with what she was saying, and waiting for the extra information. “I was born in April, so my dad called me April,” she explained.  
Oh shit, Ross wondered. Was April on the list? No, no it wasn’t. He nodded to Trott.  
Trott nodded in approval. “Birthday coming up soon, then,” he stated. “Which one, can I ask?”  
“25th,” Harri replied, sipping at the drink again.  
“Still a babby,” Sips noted, his head swimming a little from the alcohol and from Smith’s magic.  
“People keep saying that,” Harri said, a little put-out. “I’ve lived enough to know that there’s not much more than this.” She gestured around the room and sipped.  
“No?” Smith asked.  
Harri locked eyes with him. He was as stunning as Ross. Maybe even more so. He looked wild and exciting.  
“No,” she confirmed.  
“Well Harri,” Trott began, leaning forward and taking her gaze from Smith. “Drink up, and let’s see if we can show you a little more than this.”

__________________________________________________________

The lights took on personalities of their own, speaking in unrecognised languages, but their tone clear. Encouragement. Bodies whirled around, stroking and pushing the feeling of more. There was more; so much more. How had it never been this good before? What had happened?  
Harri could only attribute the feeling of otherworldliness to the four men she had just met. She challenged, and they delivered. She let the music distort in her mind. Surely the tune had gone a different way before?  
“I’m-I’m seeing things,” she managed.  
Harri felt a warm presence behind her. It leaned in close and supported her. She could have gone anywhere, but it wouldn’t have mattered, she’d be safe.  
“What can you see, beautiful?” A voice peppered her ear.  
“Light. A whole load of light, and it’s speaking to me.” The words sounded ridiculous, but she stood by them.  
“Mm-hm,” the voice goaded her.  
“People. There are people who I don’t know. They’re moving against me. I don’t like it much.”  
“Shh,” the hold around her was even more solid. “They’re leaving, don’t worry. It’s just me and you now.”  
Harri was comforted. She hummed, happily, and leaned back into the force behind her, who took her and turned her around.  
Hands cupped her face, and she hummed again, a little louder than before. It was almost brazen. She felt sexy for the first time in a long time, and was sure whoever was holding her was being very flirtatious.  
“Would you like to be kissed?” The voice asked her.  
“Yes,” she answered, no doubt in her mind.  
“By whom would you like to be kissed, beautiful?”  
Harri was overwhelmingly happy. Her heart exploded with love, peace and sheer bliss, and she couldn’t stop the laugh escape her throat, and wonderful tears run down her face.  
“Everyone!” She shouted, and in that moment she could see again.  
The music was gone. It was so dark. Where they candles she could see?  
Blinking the blurriness from her eyes, thumbs chased away the trails on her cheeks. It was Ross holding her. Or was it?  
Harri’s breath caught sharp in her chest as she witnessed everything she could without taking her eyes from the tall man’s spectacular ones. She wanted to call them diamonds, but it couldn’t describe the colour. He wasn’t a man. He was more. Her limp arms found strength enough to come up to his neck and find a place to hold.  
She didn’t remember going down the stairs to the dancefloor, but there they were.  
“Beautiful.” She echoed his words, but directed them to him.  
He smiled that way he had when they first met. With strength, reliability and serenity. It was almost celestial.  
“Angel,” she murmured, as Ross stooped his head closer to hers.  
“Not quite,” he laughed, before taking her lips with his.  
It was extraordinary. There was a force behind him, and his mouth tasted like minerals, as though he were built from everything the earth provided. His arms were still wrapped around her, secure and solid, and she felt as though she might just have fallen in love, though she couldn’t describe how. And even as she was pondering this, Ross pulled away and gazed over her face as if the same thing had just happened to him. It made Harri want to cry again, but she didn’t. She just let herself be overcome with the phenomenon, and pulled him back down to kiss again.  
When he pulled away this time, he finally let her go, and she risked falling. However, she wasn’t upset about it. He didn’t go far, and someone caught her in his place. She continued watching Ross, to see where he went. Only to the other side of the dance floor, beside one of the support pillars for the balcony above. There, he knelt on the floor, almost like a cat. For some reason, he looked even bigger than before, and Harri wondered how she hadn’t noticed he was in costume.  
The person who had caught her had a different hold. It was far lighter, but she still felt as if she couldn’t go anywhere.  
“He likes to watch,” a low, smooth as milk chocolate voice hushed against her neck.  
Harri cocked her head, questioning Ross with her expression. His smile gave her the confirmation, and a cool tongue traced the small patch of skin at the back of her neck, and round to her ear.  
Ross’ gemstone eyes sparkled with excitement as Harri reacted to teeth clamping around her earlobe. She moaned helplessly, and arched her back, willing the hands around her waist to move up.  
Another figure came out of the shadows, to the left of Harri. She wondered how long he’d been standing there.  
He looked a little timid, unsure even, as he looked over her body. It was the man she had sat next to on the sofa. Suddenly realising that she didn’t know anyone’s name but Ross, she couldn’t help but smile at the audaciousness of it. It seemed to coax him a little closer, and he finally had a face of admiration; he wanted her too.  
The one who was behind her held a hand out to the other. It was a soft, lightly tanned arm, slender and graceful, and half clothed in a fitted check shirt. He breathed calmly at the back of her neck, yet still she couldn’t move to see his face, but she knew it must have been the smaller one. He had a welcoming face. He was like an old friend, whisking her up into something she wouldn’t have done on her own, but ready to advise and guide her if she needed. It seemed as though he was this sort of figure for the man in front of her too.  
The man took the hand held out for him, and let himself be pulled closer. The smaller one behind her replaced his hand at her waist, as his gentle breath continued.  
The man in front appeared a little wary, and he licked his lips before staring at Harri, eye to eye. His hands came up to touch her, but stopped short. Harri’s stomach flipped in anticipation, and she shifted against the body behind her, achingly.  
“Give him a little help, Harri,” the hushed voice ran down her back.  
Unblinking, the young woman grasped the man’s hands and guided them to her breasts. She could feel the warmth of him even through her shirt and bra, and her body growled in relief at the contact.   
The breath behind her panted a little, not quite so calm anymore.  
The man shifted even closer, and started to grasp at Harri’s body, as if he hadn’t done this for a long time, and had only just realised how much he missed it.  
It turned Harri on, to see him on the verge of falling over an edge he hadn’t anticipated, and she sighed, loudly, starting to feel constricted by her clothes.  
As if he had read her mind, the man stroked his fingertips up to Harri’s collar and removed the tie. She idly brushed her fingers over the top of his as he slowly undid the buttons of her shirt.  
He had a different sort of pretty about him. Obviously older, Harri was puzzled at the fact he simultaneously seemed so much younger. His colourful hat had been discarded, and thankfully, so had the outrageous jacket. Underneath was a simple branded t-shirt, quite unremarkable, really. The jeans and hi-tops were rather endearing, in the moment, and Harri questioned whether she’d find the man attractive under different circumstances.  
His head leaned to one side, studying what his hands were doing, and his darker than dark eyes shone with expectation, as more and more of Harri’s body was revealed. He had a cute round nose, and pouting lips which had curled slightly into a smile once he reached the last button. Looking at her face again, Harri chewed her lip in affection, and his smile spread over his entire face. It was infectious. Yes, she found him attractive.  
With the help of the smooth-talker behind her, her shirt was dropped to the floor, and the man in front of her quickly removed her trousers, evidently more confident.   
Left in only her underwear and shoes, Harri let her head under the wave that came from the touch of the kind-faced one behind her. He ran his cool, silky hands over her shoulders, down her back and once he had unhooked her bra, they came round to fondle the curves of her waist. Harri threw the bra to her feet, and shamelessly groaned as the man in the unremarkable t-shirt squeezed her nipples. He was obviously enjoying himself now, and he kissed Harri hard, and a little fierce. She liked it. He let out a guttural reaction when she grasped at the steadily growing bulge in his jeans. She liked that too.  
“Oh, you want that?” He asked, his accent tingling in Harri’s ears.  
Harri swallowed and gazed into his mahogany eyes.  
“I want it all,” she admitted with a whine.  
The one who was behind her purred into her hair.  
“When you say all,” he encouraged.  
“Yes,” she confessed. “Yes, all. Please.”  
The soft hands at her waist came up to her shoulders again, and spun her around. She was faced with something else that was more. He was more than she had been led to believe. His eyes now almost glowed amber, as if there was light behind them. Harri noticed he was wearing a costume too, but she had no idea what it was supposed to be. He was barefoot, wearing fairly tight dark blue jeans and the checked shirt, but it had a brown sort of heavy cape or throw over the top. She decided not to touch it. It looked as though it might absorb her if she tried. Instead, she let the being kiss her in his own way. It was more tender, but made her lips prickle as though she were being drugged. When he pulled away to caress her, Harri’s tongue came out to taste more of him. It was like he’d been swimming in saltwater.  
Almost as if she had made a mistake by doing this, she was pushed away, and into the arms of the man with dark eyes.  
“Let’s get you ready,” the amber-eyed one said, dangerously.  
Harri’s conscience was alarming. What did he mean by that? It was soon quietened when he simply removed her knickers and placed adept fingers at her clit. Her body shook at his touch; so precise and with a chill that she couldn’t describe.  
“Oh fuck,” she whimpered.  
The man holding her laughed softly, and pulled her arms behind her, linking them with his own, so she was suddenly defenseless. However, it was only so he could lean his head over her and kiss the entity who was working her into a wet mess. Their mouths met each other so easily and knowingly, that it was clear they did this all the time. A pang of envy thumped at Harri’s insides. She was not the first.  
Deciding she was determined to be the best, however, she ground her hips against the slick fingers teasing her, and whispered, “More.”  
Amber-eyes grinned approval, and unzipped his fly. Harri noticed he wasn’t wearing underwear. Those glowing eyes moved away, to a spot behind her. They were intently fixed on something as he stroked himself. Harri desperately wanted to help, but the man behind her had not and would not let her go. She squirmed a little, and a hot exhalation grazed the side of her face.  
“Shh, just wait.” The man kissed her cheek, comfortingly.  
Amber-eyes wouldn’t look at her, and indignation clouded Harri’s thoughts. Before she could voice it, however, she suddenly remembered Ross. Whatever creature was about to take her, he was as enthralled by Ross as she was. She couldn’t argue.   
A gasp fell from his puckered lips, and Amber-eyes positively glowed. He finally turned back to Harri and parted her legs with one hand, holding her thigh, and guided himself with the other.  
At the initial push, Harri cried out in pleasure. She had never felt something like this before. He must have been some sort of otherworldly creature to make her feel this good.   
“Oh, my God,” she heaved.  
He fucked her, somehow making it both romantic and terrifying. His eyes were shut, breathing shallow, and teeth jutted now and again, as though he were taking some sort of punishment.  
Harri’s head was swimming, almost as much as it had been earlier, but she was bent on pleasing gorgeous Amber-eyes as much as he was pleasing her.  
“This is so good,” she breathed. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”  
Harri was silenced by a hand over her mouth.  
It was a little rough, and a definite shade of blue. Ross. He had appeared at her side, smiling a little apologetically.  
Amber-eyes was back in the room, and the two of them gazed lovingly at each other. Harri couldn’t protest anything. The feel of him inside her was too wonderful to argue, and besides, there was still a hand over her mouth, no way of moving either arm, and one leg was still hitched up. She finally submitted to the situation she was in. She had no control, that was clear. Instead, she revelled in a moan as the two otherworldly beings kissed each other with the greatest of longing.  
Amber-eyes never looked away from Ross. The angelic one licked his lips in admiration of what was happening to Harri, and he brazenly stared at their bodies moving against each other in awe. Blinking, Ross took the other’s hand and guided it to his mouth. He kissed the palm, tasted the fingers greedily, then moved it down to his lower abdomen.  
Amber-eyes smirked wickedly, and Harri twisted her head to see that Ross was already completely naked, and rigid at that. She was right, they weren’t costumes at all. She was fucking angels. Real-life, sent-from-Heaven angels.  
As Ross released his hand from Harri’s mouth and traced the other angel’s face, the other angel pushed harder against her, and grunted with delight, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, and she cried out again, pulsing with pleasure. Amber-angel was fucking faster now, and Harri felt him reaching that spot with every thrust, to the point where she positively squealed, and came. Her body wanted to stop, at least for a break, but Amber-angel kept going, his groans becoming more frequent. It was almost a little painful, but Harri remembered her determination, and scrunched her face up at the tears threatening to run from her eyes. Amber-angel came inside her, pressing his head against Ross’ chest and sighing almost objectionably.  
He immediately pulled out, and settled himself against Ross, who was huffing little approving noises as he stroked the angel’s chestnut hair.  
The man holding Harri’s arms was more of a support now, than a restraint. He stood a little more solidly, and had started mumbling “Oh fuck,” over and over.  
A moment of respite, and Harri was led to the raised stage at the back of the room. She let herself be laid down. It was rather hard, but it was soothing too, with all the punishment being done to her senses.  
Ross stood above her, stroking her hair and smiling happily.  
“Ready for round two?” He asked, sweetly and with concern.  
It was enough for Harri to nod, though her body screamed for rest. At least she was laying down.  
Ross moved her, so her legs were dangling over the side of the stage. It really was dark. She couldn’t see Amber-angel anywhere. Unremarkable-T-shirt-angel was watching what was happening, and for a moment, Harri thought it was going to be Ross’ turn next, with T-shirt-angel watching, but no. She was happy with that. She’d rather have saved her number one angel for last.  
The two of them swapped places, and T-shirt-angel massaged Harri’s thighs with sure hands before parting them and standing between them. He had a button down fly, and was most definitely wearing underwear. It was decorated with the Power Rangers.  
Harri snorted with innocent laughter, and T-shirt-angel stared at her. He held a peculiar wavered expression, and appeared to be unsure again, even more so than he had been before.  
A smell of orange blossom wafted through the air. Harri’s favourite. She closed her eyes and bathed in it. It was like an aphrodisiac.  
She awoke again, sharply, when she felt warm fingers rub against her. She felt so exposed and sensual. This was a once in a lifetime.  
“Mmm, please.”  
T-shirt-angel looked at her again, this time he was different. He looked the same as the others, like a light was shining from inside him. His skin was flushed, and his mahogany eyes bored into her as he entered and began to fuck.  
It was a wonderful change to be able to grasp at the t-shirt, to hold onto the angel’s arms as they supported him on either side of her, and to be able to cry out exactly what she was feeling. It wasn’t quite as intoxicating as Amber-angel, but it was fun to hear every outburst of favour coming from him.  
Ross sat next to them, continuing his observation. Harri shifted slightly, in order to look at him. He was so captivating, just sitting and waiting, cock still hard, and with deep sentiment on his face.  
Harri took initiative and turned so she was kneeling, facing her favourite. T-shirt-angel grinned and waited for her to get comfortable, before positioning himself behind her and thrusting once more. This had always been her favourite position, and that sensitive spot was being hit again, as T-shirt-angel picked up the pace, grabbing her buttocks harshly and groaning.  
Harri leaned up, and enticed Ross to stoop and kiss her. He tasted so wonderful. She managed to lift a hand and stroke his chest in little circles, slowly winding her way down to grasp his gloriously decorated cock. He was like a statue or something, but had a warmth that stone couldn’t possibly give out.  
The kiss broke as Ross let out a gasp, and it made Harri’s insides shiver, causing her own vocal reaction.  
“Both,” she mewled.  
“Hm,” Ross smiled.  
T-shirt-angel stopped and pulled out. “Oh fuck, yeah,” he agreed.  
Harri settled in Ross’ lap, able to look into his eyes as he held her in a sitting position. They shared a devoted bout of kisses and caresses before she lowered herself onto him.   
This was something more than all of it put together. She sung a note of joy as she came again with him hardly moving.  
“Holy shit!” She exclaimed, burying her face in Ross’ shoulder.  
She was allowed to recover from the aftershocks this time, and Ross giggled adorably against her.  
Dripping and exhausted, Harri relaxed against her favourite angel, and let him do the work. He started slowly, his strong hands maneuvering her hips effortlessly on him.  
“You need to lean forward now, beautiful,” he spoke.  
Retaining his easy hold of her, Ross lay down on his back, and took Harri with him. They were still for a while, as Harri heard T-shirt-angel moving around behind her, and she felt as though she could do this for the rest of her life.  
She had a sharp intake of breath as something cold pressed against her behind.  
“Relax,” Ross soothed.  
Harri buried her face into him again, and did as she was told. As she was teased on one side, another hand skimmed round her thigh to play with her clit.   
“Fuck me,” she croaked, digging nails into Ross’ upper arms. He was completely unmoving, happy to wait again.  
“Whatever you say, Harri,” T-shirt-angel growled from behind her.  
They built a steady rhythm together, and Harri muffled her pleasure against Ross, unable to hold her head up for more than a few seconds. This might have been the best thing she’d ever done.  
T-shirt-angel came first, the air in front of him heavy with expletives. He didn’t pull out straight away, but took a moment to calm, then leaned in to kiss Harri on her shoulder blade with such affection that he hadn’t really shown.  
Harri turned to face him as best she could, and saw a remorseful expression. He quickly looked away, and walked back into the shadows.  
Before Harri had a chance to think about it, Ross lifted her and placed her on her back. He then held her thighs, entered her once more, and slowly moved inside. As exhausted as she was, Harri could have let Ross do this to her forever, and she let herself get lost in him. There was no one else around, now. It was just the two of them, face to face, letting their moans echo around the club, and it brought a broad smile to Harri’s lips. Her heart was elated, and she was as free as she had ever been. She laughed.  
“What are you laughing for?” The angel asked, curiously rather than scornfully.  
“Because I love you,” she declared.  
The angel smiled back, and licked his lips before moving a little faster.  
Harri convulsed as he did so, and shouted, “Oh god, yes. I want you to do this all the fucking time!”  
Ross’ intent became more and more, and he blasphemed.  
“I need you, Ross. I need this,” Harri’s head was a swirl of energy. She was sure she could taste dust or sand at the back of her throat.  
She came again, against everything her body had cried against, and Ross followed.  
She was concerned, suddenly. In her afterglow, something felt wrong. There was a buzzing feeling, as though she’d had a shot of absinthe and it was coursing through her veins. It was exhilarating, but she wondered if she was having a heart attack. She panted loudly on the stage, until Ross’ face appeared over her again.  
“It’s just the magic. Sorry about that.”  
He was smiling, but it somehow looked different. As though he was satisfied, but not particularly concerned if she was or not.  
Without warning, he lifted her up as if she were a bundle of laundry and carried her over to the pillar where he had been sitting and watching during the seduction of Amber-angel and T-shirt-angel.  
Ross didn’t say a word, but retained a half-smile as he worked, leaning her up against the cold pillar, lifting her arms above her head and tying them to the pillar with some silk ties and rope. If Harri tried to speak, Ross would silence her immediately with a blink and a widened smile.  
All of a sudden, he was done, and simply left her alone. She didn’t see where he went. The silence that followed was thick, and the smell of orange blossom returned. Where was it coming from? It could have been a June evening in Spain. It was the place she most loved, holidaying once a year with her parents when she was growing up. It reminded her of whirlwind teenage flings, when boys would notice her and ask for dances, and follow them with kisses and gropes in the dark.  
She could feel the silk against her skin, and a slight breeze around her exposed body. Any confusion about Ross was lost as she could swear she felt hands over her. They were refreshingly cool in the heat of the room, like going skinny dipping in the lake. She closed her eyes for a second, but found it actually caused the atmosphere to diminish, and something in the back of her mind threatened to pull her away from all this. It was a painful thought, so she opened them again.  
The tallest one. She had forgotten. Not forgotten, just put him to the back of her mind. Saved for this moment, where she felt more was too small a word to use. This was beyond the mortal plain! Her breathing was shallow and eager as she saw his silhouette draw closer, and into the small patches of light created by the candles. Why were there candles, again?  
Her breathing stopped. This angel was something else completely. Her eyes widened as his features came into view.   
Vivid, luminous eyes of blue absorbed her, indecently, as though she were a pair of expensive shoes, and a grin that started as a pout seemed to flow over his mouth and into those eyes. He was pleased with her. Harri shuddered and swallowed the unexpected fear when his teeth flashed at her. They were definitely sharp-looking. His aura swirled a bright green. He wasn’t how Harri was led to believe angels looked.  
“Look at you,” he said, voice layered with praise.  
Harri felt herself flush from head to toe, and her exhale quivered with a tiny whimper.  
He laughed, quietly. It was husky and low, almost sensitive, and Harri flushed again, unable to control a smile with a bite of her lower lip. It gave her confidence, however.  
“You bring silk ties to every club you go to?” She asked, twisting her wrists in the silk.  
The angel’s eyes flickered to the left of her and he replied, “Most of the time. They seem to come in handy.” He laughed again, at some unknown joke.  
Harri was about to question, when she saw swift hands come from behind her with another tie. She recognised it for a moment as her own, and assumed it was going to be put over her eyes. However, it gagged her instead, and was quickly tied secure, before she had a chance to even try to fight. She turned her head to see Ross smiling comfortably, as though this were common practice. Harri wasn’t sure she felt as comfortable as Ross, and tried to tell him with a look of concern, but he only shrugged his shoulders and disappeared again.  
“As I was saying,” Silk-tie-angel hummed, tracing a long finger from her cheek, down between her breasts and to her navel. “Look at you. You’ve got all sorts of come dripping down your legs, you know.”   
His finger continued down to rest between her legs, and she squealed through her nose. Silk-tie-angel’s other hand held her firmly by the hip to keep her from escaping his touch, as he slipped inside her and used his thumb against her clit. She could now feel wetness running down her inner thigh, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Every now and then, her body would try and reject the angel’s fingers, to no avail.  
“Sore?” He asked, his face close.   
There was a twinkling of amusement in his eyes, which convinced Harri that he knew what he was doing, and liked it. She nodded, willing him to be a little more gentle. He only pushed more, and Harri tried to bury her head against her arm as she screamed against her tie.  
“You want to come again.”   
It wasn’t a question, but Harri shook her head, defiant. She thought she might break in half if she went through it once more.  
“Yes you do,” Silk-tie-angel corrected, and he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing, that would surely leave a mark.  
Harri arched her back against the pillar, and her chest brushed against the angel’s white t-shirt. He lifted his head and leaned in closer, parting her legs with his to stand between them. One hand still working her, the other came up to seize one of her breasts. He pinched the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, smiling at her cry of pain. It had sent the most illicit pleasure wave into her abdomen, and her eyes widened in shock.  
“You said you wanted it all,” Silk-tie-angel reminded her.  
“Mmpf,” Harri agreed, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as the angel mauled her to another orgasm.  
“Good girl,” he cooed. “But you need to stay awake for this. It’s the best bit.”  
Harri’s head lopped in front of her, and Silk-tie-angel lifted it with both hands. One hand was sticky against her jaw.  
“Open your eyes,” he commanded, and she obliged reluctantly.  
He was glowing green, and his sharp teeth were positively effulgent. His left hand pulled the tie out of Harri’s mouth, and his right loosened the heavy buckle of his tight jeans.  
“I’d love you to say my name, Harri.”  
Harri’s lips were dry, but not as much as her throat was. She tried to say something, but the sound wouldn’t come out.  
“Call me Smith,” he answered.   
Smith squeezed his way in between Harri’s thighs, and immediately started to thrust.  
“Smi-” Harri just managed to croak in a recoil at his intrusion.   
“That’s right,” he breathed.  
His left hand was slightly more forceful than she was used to, as it held her chin up, so she could see his hair fall around his face as he fucked.  
Something shifted behind her, but she couldn’t see anything.  
“We call the god Picollus.”   
A low voice sang from the shadows. Harri guessed it was Amber-angel.  
“He has come here to take what he wants, but what he wants cannot be given.”  
The cloaked angel came into view from behind Harri’s shoulder, round the pillar, and settled behind Smith. Smith growled through his nose, turned to Amber-angel, and they kissed, open-mouthed and wet.  
Harri croaked again.  
Amber-angel rested his chin on Smith’s shoulder and watched the two of them fuck as he spoke.  
“So we offer something better in return. A soul who is willing to share in all of this ritual. Come now, and heed the gift, accept, and return to your realm satisfied.”  
“Wha-,” Harri mumbled.  
“Shh, don’t worry about it, beautiful. He just likes his traditions.”   
Ross had appeared again, as if from nowhere, and settled on Smith’s other side. They kissed too, and leaned their heads together for a moment.   
Harri sank back into whatever dream state she had come from, and let herself whine, “Smith.”  
The angel half-laughed, half gasped.  
“Sips,” Amber-angel said.  
Harri blinked some of the fog away. Thankful that she would at least get some water, she did her best to nod.  
“Please,” she managed.  
Amber-angel looked confused, then T-shirt-angel appeared at his side, looking most apprehensive. Amber-angel turned to him.  
“You do the first bit, then you won’t have to see much more. You can focus on the candles and herbs and stuff.”  
T-shirt-angel nodded slowly, even more nervous than ever. Harri wondered when she was going to get her drink. Amber-angel handed something to T-shirt-angel out of sight. He squeezed the nervous one’s shoulder and pointed to Harri’s leg.  
“Start there. It’s easy there.”  
T-shirt-angel swallowed, and crouched in front of Harri. Something cold was making lines at her outer thigh.  
“That’s it,” Amber-angel commended, patting T-shirt-angel lovingly.  
Smith choked back a loud cry, and fucked harder.  
“Ah!” Harri expelled.  
The odd sensation travelled down from her thigh to her knee, then round her calf and shin, to the top of her shoe.  
“Now do a bit here,” Amber-angel coaxed, brushing Harri’s hip and lower stomach.  
T-shirt-angel sighed heavily, but did as he was encouraged. Again, it was cold, and tingly, but the pattern was smooth and full of circles, like flowers, or pretty vines.  
“Oh fuck,” Smith breathed, looking down at it.  
“Okay, you did good, Sips,” Amber-angel buzzed with affection, taking back the object he had given the other angel.  
Harri frowned. Who has a name like Sips?  
Sips escaped the group, and the room was suddenly ignited further. The smell of herbs and, for some reason, butter filled the space.  
Amber-angel resumed the task of tracing the patterns on Harri’s skin, and Smith was starting to make more noise with every thrust.  
“Trott,” he whispered.  
Amber-angel’s eyes glanced up, and he smiled.  
“Not angel names,” Harri whispered. There was a small pause.  
“I told you, we’re not angels, beautiful,” Ross spoke. He had been stoic through all of this, merely observing.  
Bigger lines were being drawn over Harri, and came up to her chest. The sensation started to feel uncomfortable. She looked at each of them in turn. Trott was looking from his work to Smith, pleased expression on his face, Smith was fucking hard, groaning Trott’s name, mixed with swears, and admiring the smaller one’s work. Ross was just there, taking everything in, half-smiling and stone still.  
Trott wiped his thumb over Harri’s stomach and brought it up to Smith’s mouth. Red was dripping over it, some sort of liquid. Smith greedily took Trott’s thumb in his mouth and fed as though he hadn’t done so for days.  
Something smelled funny, and it wasn’t whatever was burning behind them.  
“Huh?” She wondered aloud.  
“It’s paint,” Ross said, simply.  
She stared back at her favourite, love filling her heart, and she saw the same in his gemstone eyes.   
“Tickles,” she whispered, before her eyes rolled back into her head once more.

_____________________________________________________

“Fuck!” Smith shouted.  
He latched onto the young woman’s neck with his teeth as he came. Blood spattered from the corners of his mouth with each heavy breath of his climax. The satisfying taste bubbled on his tongue and he had to stop himself drinking too much.  
Ross brought a beautiful glass decanter up to the wound, and held it under, collecting the blood. He hummed a tune to himself.  
Trott dipped a cloth into a large bowl of water. It had rose petals floating on top, and had been infused with cinnamon. He used it to clean the woman’s body of dripping blood, so the pattern was clear. It would ward off any other beings or entities that might have been attracted to the kill. The trails of scored lacerations ran from the young woman’s collarbone, down over her chest and stomach, then down her right leg. They swirled in patterns similar to ivy. It was old forest magic. Trott attentatively wiped the messy trails of glistening red, though small beads still grew from the cuts which had gone slightly deeper. He spoke to Smith.  
“Give Turps a call, would you? He ought to be here.”  
Smith removed his t-shirt and dipped it in the same bowl, then used it to mop at the blood splatters over his face and on his jeans.  
“Couldn’t have done that in the bathroom?” Trott asked, tutting.  
Smith merely flashed a grin. Dropping the stained t-shirt to the floor, Smith moved off, and tapped his phone.  
“Is that enough, Trott?” Ross asked, cocking his head at the now tiny dribble of blood that was coming from the woman’s neck.  
“Yeah, fill it with some of the rose water, and it’ll be perfect,” the selkie replied.  
“Smith’s put his shirt in that!” The gargoyle protested.  
Trott laughed. “Believe me, Pic won’t mind.”  
Ross pondered. “Yeah, he always was a dirty fucker.”  
Sips had laid out specific cuts of muslin, and corresponding squares of foil wrapping paper on the floor. Each square had a different design, ranging from animals, to huge flowers, to metallic solid colour. On a small table, he had prepared various flavourings and condiments, including chives, rosemary, chillies, a variety of cheeses, ice cream and chocolate. There was a candle in the middle, a round plate, cutlery, and a crystal glass, matching the decanter that Ross had used.  
The gargoyle brought it over and set it down next to the glass, and stoked the makeshift fire pit. It had a pan on it, sizzling hot and ready for use if it needed to be. He turned to his king, who was sitting on the floor - quite unusually - had his back to the gory scene, and looked concerned.  
“You were amazing,” Ross smiled.  
“I don’t fancy that again, if I can help it,” Sips drawled.  
Laughing, the gargoyle hummed in agreement. “It’s not always that gruesome,” he said.  
“It’s always gruesome enough,” Sips replied, with an awkward smirk.  
Ross left the fire, brushed the embers from his hands, and walked to his king. He held a hand out, and after a moment, it was taken. Ross pulled Sips into a comforting embrace, quietly singing the Macarena.  
Trott mopped as he cut, as was per the ritual. He sliced through the woman’s flesh from the bottom of her ribs to her lower abdomen, and exposed what was inside. A river of red fell to the floor, hitting Trott’s feet and the bottoms of his jeans.  
“Fuck sake,” he groaned. Although he knew that he’d never get through the night clean, it was still an unwelcome soggy mess, not to mention a slipping hazard.  
Placing knowledgeable incisions inside the body, he removed the organs within reach, one by one and handed them to Smith, who the wrapped them in muslin. Ross - who had led Sips to the bar, where he was pouring shots of sambuca for himself - would then wrap them in the shiny paper, and deftly secure them with wax from the candles.  
As Smith was immune to the ward on the body, having been the one who killed the woman, the smell of blood was flipping through his insides.  
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Trott warned, as Smith held a kidney.  
“She could have had surgery,” the kelpie suggested.  
The selkie said nothing, but stared rather reproachfully.  
“Fine,” Smith sighed.  
Trott was precise with the last of the organs. He and Smith removed the binds around the woman’s wrists and set her on the floor. The selkie cut at the chest, and Smith handed him a surgical saw.  
“Put your hands over your ears, Sips!” Smith chided across the room.  
“Fuck you!” The man hit back, nevertheless covering his ears as much as he could.  
Smith sat opposite Trott, making sure the work was clean. Picollus always preferred the bodies to be as clean cut as possible. Especially if she was going to be a companion to him.  
“Stop drooling over it,” Trott jokingly scolded, breaking the bones carefully.  
“Stop talking about it!” Smith retorted.  
Ross looked from the two friends at work to his king. Sips was struggling, head encased in his hands and eyes screwed up. Judging by this, the king will need another party to get over it, the gargoyle thought.  
The sawing stopped, and Sips received a gentle tap on the arm. Opening his eyes, a beautiful gargoyle held out a sambuca, with one poured for himself. He wore the most reassuring smile.  
“It’s like a dream come true,” the man joked, before taking the shot.

Picollus wandered in from the shadows just as Ross had placed the last of the wrapped packages on the table laid for him. The woman’s body had been cleaned again - the blood was mostly dry - and stitched back up with coloured silk ribbon. The court had redressed her in the clothes she had been wearing. She had been placed on another table, near the fire, and adorned with chocolate truffles and bottles of dandelion and burdock. Ziggy Stardust played in the background.  
Picollus gasped with glee.  
“By the gods you boys know how to throw a party!” He exclaimed, embracing each of them as they stood to greet him. “You are looking most shaky there, Sips. Not used to all of this, are you?” Picollus was laughing.  
Ross placed a supportive hand on the small of his king’s back, and Sips focused all of his attention on that, to stem the very real probability that he was about to vomit.  
“Humans just don’t do it how they used to,” the demi-god added. “Where’s the siren?”  
Before anyone could answer, the front door opened.  
“What in the name of holy fucking Hell have you done to my club?!” Turps screamed.  
“Tut, tut. No blasphemes, siren.”  
Turps froze, and all colour drained from his face. He looked around the room at the faces of alarm, and stammered.  
“I- I- No, no!”  
Picollus silenced the terrified siren with a raised hand.  
“I don’t recommend being late for the next being who wants your soul, but thankfully, I’m feeling generous. After all, have you seen my presents?”  
“You mean- You mean you’re not going to take me?” Turps whimpered.  
“I mean I’m accepting the exchange, so no, I’m not going to take you,” Picollus assured.  
“Oh shit. Oh shit, thank you!” The siren slipped.  
“Don’t thank me, you idiot.”  
Turps was silent. He looked at the others in the room, embarrassed, and Trott shook his head to say it wasn’t necessary. He had already thanked them.  
Picollus sat behind his gift-laden table, and the others followed suit, all apart from Ross, who cooked each of the unwrapped gifts in the pan over the fire, as Picollus required.  
“That might just have been one of the best meals I have ever eaten,” the demi-god complimented, once he had finished. “Liver with chillies and chocolate, who knew?”  
Sips swallowed, heavily.  
“Smith, you have been eyeing up that drink all night. Have the rest,” Picollus gestured.  
The kelpie blinked surprise.  
“Go on,” the demi-god confirmed. “I want to see what you gave me.”  
Smith swigged straight from the decanter, and though the rosewater had tainted the flavour, it somewhat satisfied his craving. Picollus went over to the other table and stole a truffle as he inspected the woman.  
“Mm, female?”  
Ross shrugged. “Physically yes, but I never asked. Called herself Harri. With an i instead of a y.”  
“Oh, I see,” Picollus sounded interested. “I love the hair. Very pretty. Eyes.” The demi-god opened the woman’s lids and bent over her. “Lovely. Look at the shoes!” He exclaimed. “Very cool. Very punk.”  
Smith snorted. “You sound like an old man,” he laughed.  
Picollus grinned back. “I am an old man, you bastard! Older than any of you will ever get to be, anyway.” He passed a truffle to Trott, who nodded thanks and placed it in his mouth. “I want to meet this pretty soul, so I shall be leaving. Your hospitality has surpassed anything I could wish for. Bear that in mind if anyone else asks you to exchange their soul with me.” With that, the demi-god collected as many dandelion and burdock bottles into his long coat as he could, embraced each of them, and disappeared into the shadows of the room.  
Turps exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath for the entirety of Picollus’ visit.  
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he slurred.  
Ross handed him a sambuca, having poured another for Sips as well.  
“Wait,” Sips finally found strength to speak. “Doesn’t he take the body?”  
“What would he do with it?” Smith asked. “He only needs the soul.”  
“Oh, right. Other realm stuff,” Sips said, quietly.  
“What do we do about the sidhe?” Turps inquired.  
“Wait and see, I suppose,” Trott replied. “He’s not welcome here, so you’re safe, just let us know if you hear anything.”  
“Great,” the siren muttered, downing the sambuca that had been refilled.  
“Ready to leave?” The selkie questioned the room.  
Ross handed jackets, coats and other possessions.  
“Hold on a second, here,” Turps was angry. “You’re not going to clean up? How the fuck am I supposed to explain this?” The siren gestured around the room, at the blood in bursts and trails over the floor, at the slowly reducing flames, and at the body.  
“Dunno mate, that bit wasn’t in the deal,” Smith said, earnestly, clapping him on the shoulder and slinging his jacket over his still bare shoulder.  
He meandered over to the door, followed by Sips, Trott, and finally Ross, who gave a small wave as he left.

**Author's Note:**

> Dandelion and burdock is a type of fizzy drink (soda) in the UK, primarily. It's most like sarsaparilla, and a little similar in core ingredients and colour to root beer.
> 
> Melpomene was one of the ancient Muses from Classical Mythology.
> 
> Picollus is as described in the story, though I have broadened it from what I have read on the internet. He's a figure in Prussian and Baltic mythology.
> 
> Again, any questions or suggestions, hit me up.


End file.
